


A Lean and Bloody Winter

by QueenCoeurl



Series: Royalty AU [7]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Achievement Hunter Kings, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Dark God Ryan, Descent into Madness, Explicit Language, Gen, Lies, Mad King Ryan, Mind Games, Paranoia, Psychological Torture, soul devouring
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-08-13 23:47:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7990783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenCoeurl/pseuds/QueenCoeurl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meg is still in The Mad King's prison, and only manages to extend her stay when she is unable to hold her tongue. Meanwhile, Ryan finds himself growing short on allies he can trust as the Kingdom prepares to face what could easily become one of the worst famines yet. The Joneses come to visit the capital and are Not Impressed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Madness Grows

  Meg shifted in her sleep and the scraping of her shackles on stone woke her partially. It was just enough for her to become aware of her cold discomfort and the bruises she had gained from laying on the floor. That stopped her from falling back into sleep, and she decided it best to just sit up and stare at the wall.

  She didn’t know how long it had been; there was no way to tell time down here. She had tried gauging time by when she received her meals, but had quickly learned that they came too irregularly. It could have been one month, or five, she had no way of knowing.

  Her only consolation was that Kyle was still down here with her; it meant that only a small amount of time had passed, for The Mad King eagerly executed those awaiting death.

  But that also meant that their time was only nearing its end, and she feared having to face this darkness alone once he was gone.

 

  “Kyle?” She asked quietly, not wanting to wake him if he too had been asleep.

  “Yeah?” He answered.

  “How long do you think it’s been? That we’ve been down here?” She decided to get his opinion.

  “Far too long.” Kyle replied with a groan, “Isn’t the Mad King bloodthirsty? Why hasn’t he come to claim my soul?”

  “Do you want him to?”

  Kyle snorted, “Of course not; but why should I be forced to wait?”

  “It does mean you live longer…” Meg told him.

  “This isn’t living.” He retorted.

  There was the distant sound of boots on stone, and shouts echoed down the hall towards them.

  “Do you think we’ll be getting a new neighbour?” Kyle shifted in his chains.

  Meg moved towards the barred window in her door, “It might be nice if we do.” She saw one of Kyle’s hands grab a bar in his own window.

  “Sounds like a woman.” He commented as the shouts drew closer.

  Meg had to agree, and craned her neck to see down the hall.

 

  Two prison guards were pulling a struggling woman. She had long black hair that was matted and tangled, and was spouting vile profanities at the guards. Bruised, beaten, and chained, she still fought.

  “Sons of whores! May you all rot in hell! Pig fuckers! I hope you kiss your slut wives after sucking the King’s cock!” She screamed and kept on going.

  The guard on the right punched her in the jaw, “Shut up!” he ordered.

  She spat blood on him and continued to curse them both, “I bet you beg to taste the King’s puny prick and eagerly swallow it all!”

  They opened the cell left of Kyle’s and dragged her inside. Chains rattled as she was secured to her cell wall. The guards were ready to lock her door and leave, when she screamed at them.

  “Cowards! Can’t handle a REAL woman!”

  “Ok, fuck the Captain’s rules.” One of the guards told the other, and went back into the cell.

  “Came crawling back for more, huh?” The woman taunted.

  The next sound was a loud “Woof” and moan as she was kicked and beaten by the guard.

  The other guard was still outside the door, and he shifted his weight nervously. He looked back up the hall, “Come on.” He urged, “Just forget about her, let’s go.”

  The guard got in a couple more hits before he returned to his partner with a huff.

  They locked the cell and left the three prisoners alone.

 

  It was Kyle who spoke up first, “Are you faring alright?” He asked their new guest.

  “Fuck you.” She spat.

  “Hey,” Meg defended him, “We mean no harm.”

  “Worry about your own spotted hides!” She snapped angrily.

  Meg wasn’t deterred, “My name is Meg. I–”

  The woman interrupted her, “I don’t fucking care!”

  “Well then.” Kyle stated, “Meg and I shall have a wonderful time on our own.”

  Meg couldn’t help but chuckle at his tone, “Indeed.” She agreed.

  “Silence yourselves!” The woman shouted.

  Kyle laughed at that.

  “You think that’s funny?! I’ll tear off your cock and feed it to my pigs!” She threw her chains around.

  “I do think it’s funny. See, we’re your only friends in here, and we’re all stuck in this together. Like Hell am I going to let you make it worse.” Kyle responded.

  Meg nodded, “He’s right you know. And you don’t even know who we are.” She rubbed her nose and sniffed, “Chances are high we’re all enemies of the King.”

  “I don’t care who the fuck you were; you’re all pig feed now. There is nothing but death waiting for us.” Much of the anger seemed to drain from her voice, “The King has passed my judgement. He will come for my soul in the morning.”

  “Wait, you know when?” Kyle hadn’t been given a date, “The Guard told me I would be put to death, but The King has yet to come for me. It has been quite some time now.”

  Meg realised what the issue was, “Your judgment must be passed by The King, not the Guard. Until The King decrees it, you will not be put to death.” She told him.

  The woman cackled, “I killed the whore daughter of a lord. She tried to take my man, so I gutted her like a fish. Kill a Lady, and maybe then The King shall take notice of you.”

  Meg wanted to ask her about The King and how he was faring, but bit her lip. What could such a woman possibly tell her?

  “What did you expect would happen for killing a Lady?” Kyle asked her condescendingly.

  “Oh go fuck yourself. You’re here too!” The woman retorted.

  Meg shook her head and sighed, “Do you have to be so abrasive? We’re just trying to pass the time with polite conversation.”

  “Time is the only thing I have left, and I don’t have much. I don’t want your flapping lips to fill my final hours! Give me my peace!” She shouted at them.

  “You would rather await death in dead silence?” Meg asked.

  “JUST SHUT YOUR CUNT MOUTH!” She bellowed.

  Meg was taken aback and offended. What a rude and nasty woman.

  Kyle spoke to Meg softly, “Let her have her quiet then. We will be rid of her soon.” His hand left the bar in his window and chains chimed as he returned back deeper into his cell.

  Meg decided to give up as well, and moved back to her sleeping corner. She wasn’t going to fall asleep anytime soon, so she just leaned up against the wall and let her thoughts wander freely.

  It wasn’t long until her thoughts moved to Gavin.

  What was he up to? How was he faring? Did he and The First have a plan to overthrow The Mad King? If so, what was taking so long?

  What if there was no plan, and they were just hiding? Ryan was still mortal, wasn’t he? Were they trying to let old age take him?

  What did that mean for her? If that was the plan, why wouldn’t have Gavin tried to come for her? She’d be an old hag by the time Ryan died. Was Gavin unable to convince The First to save her?

  It had been easier believing Gavin dead. Knowing him to be alive just made her ask too many questions and grow angry.

  Frustration grew inside her, as did malice. This was all the damn First’s fault wasn’t it? If it was up to Gavin, he would have attacked The Mad King and saved her by now. She knew he would have.

  A low moan of pain from the woman’s cell interrupted her train of thought.

  Meg moved into another position to ease the weight on the parts of her against the stone. She rubbed her arm where Ryan had cursed her. No mark of any kind remained, and she worried just what effect his curse would have on her. So far it did not seem to have ever grown active.

  She doubted it would be pleasant when it did.

 

  Time passed and once more Meg found herself bored witless. That was by far the worst part of being imprisoned. Not the smell, not the darkness, not the pain or starvation. She could only fiddle and play with her chains so much, and her nails were already filed down from picking at the mortar in her wall. Too weak to cast much magic, she couldn’t even find entertainment that way.

  All she had were her short conversations with Kyle. And soon she wouldn’t even have that.

 

~*~

 

  Lord Doubleton was dressed in black mourning clothes and waited for The King before the entrance to the dungeons. His hair was dark brown salted with grey, and he had a neatly groomed goatee. His face was creased and his hands growing boney. He wore no weapon but had two members of his own Guard with him. Clasping his long cloak was a bronze spider with pearls for eyes; his house’s sigil.

  The guards’ helms covered their faces, and their armour was the orange accented silver of their Lord’s house colours.

 

  Ryan teleported in around the corner out of sight of the Lord and his guards. He didn’t want to startle the already grieving man. Walking the rest of the distance to the dungeons he tried to think of something comforting to say. It all felt insincere; how could he possibly hope to console someone who had had their only daughter murdered?

  He closed the distance and he was greeted with bows from the Lord and his guards.

  Ryan nodded in acknowledgement of their greeting, “Lord Doubleton, My condolences to you and your family.”

  “Thank you, your Majesty.” Lord Doubleton replied.

  “I know you requested to witness the execution, but know that it is not necessary, and if you have changed your mind, you are free to leave.” Ryan told him.

  “I promised my wife and sons that I would see this to the end. I can not return to them without having witnessed her death.” The Lord explained, but his face made it clear he rather not.

  Ryan gave him another nod, “As you wish.” He gestured to the stairway down to the dungeons, “Leave your Guard here and I shall lead you down to her cell.”

  Lord Doubleton ordered his guards to remain, but was uncomfortable without them.

  Ryan began to descend at a casual pace, with the Lord next to him.

  “I can’t help but notice your lack of sword, Your Majesty.” Lord Doubleton wanted to fill the silence as they followed the steps downward.

  “I use magic for executions.” Ryan informed him, “Quicker, cleaner, and no body to bury.”

  “Oh.” He didn’t know how to respond, so he changed the topic, “I am greatly honoured that you humour me with this whole sentencing and punishment business. I do not believe I would have the fortitude to go through with it, even should the law require me.”

  Ryan scratched the base of a horn as they reached the correct floor of the dungeons, “There is nothing wrong with that, Lord Doubleton. Execution is a grisly business, far removed from the carnage one would find in combat. It is honourless.”

  “So you take no pleasure in it?” The Lord was now curious.

  They passed a group of prison guards who bowed to them.

  Ryan gave a crooked smile, “I am not a man of honour. Dealing death is my indulgence.”

  Lord Doubleton swallowed and forced himself to look straight ahead. The King was not shy of the truth it seemed. He decided to end the conversation there.

  Ryan was comfortable with the silence as they made their way deeper into the bowels of the dungeons. He knew exactly where the cell was, for it was right by the cell that held Meg. When they arrived he did his best not to stare too long at the door to Meg’s cell and gestured to the cell the Lord was interested in.

  The gesture was unnecessary, for as soon as they had entered the hall the cellmates had heard them arrive. The woman had jumped up to her cell window and begun cursing out the Lord and King.

  Ryan ignored her words and spoke, “Cassandra Megart, as per your trial you have been sentenced to death. Lord Doubleton has requested to bear witness to your execution.” He turned to the Lord, “Lord Doubleton, Cassandra is to be executed for the crime of murder by your prosecution. Have you any final words for her?”

  Lord Doubleton opened his mouth to speak, but flinched with each curse the woman spat, “I- I-” he was unable to get his words out with her shouting at him.

  The woman uttered a choked squeal and fell quiet, no longer able to speak, as Ryan’s magic silenced her.

  “Say what you have to say, Lord Doubleton.” Ryan gently urged him.

  Realising that she was unable to speak, Cassandra began to toss around her chains and bang on her door and walls. She refused to be quiet.

  Ryan sighed in irritation and flicked his hand towards her cell door.

  There was the sound of chains being thrown against the wall and a thud. Cassandra’s noise making ended.

  “W-What did you do, Your Majesty?” Lord Doubleton asked.

  Ryan used his magic to unlock and swing open her door revealing the woman pinned to the far wall of her cell and unable to move anything but her head. Her mouth still soundlessly screamed profanity at them.

  “You will not be interrupted by her.” Ryan told Lord Doubleton and then stepped into the cell to stand before Cassandra. He seemed to inspect her contemplatively, “Speak what you have to say.” He looked back to the Lord.

  Lord Doubleton refused to enter the cell, but clenched his fists and spoke, “May whatever gods that be have mercy on you, for my ancestors will not. You killed Delilah, and this is your deserved reward.”

  Ryan looked back to Cassandra, “And you, Cassandra Megart, have you any last words before I execute you in the name of the kingdom and its people?”

  The woman found herself able to speak, “I will be sure to send your regards to your bitch when I meet her in Hell!” she hatefully spat.

  “Then I, King Ryan Haywood, First of My Name, and Protector of the Realm, claim your life.” Ryan announced.

  The instant he finished his sentence, her flesh liquefied and bones crumbled. Her chains chimed on the stone floor as they fell limp.

  Ryan stared at the red stain with a wide malicious smile, and had to remind himself to put on a solemn expression before turning back to Lord Doubleton.

  “The deed is done.” He told the Lord grimly.

  Lord Doubleton nodded and continued to look at the wet mess.

  Ryan came up to him, “You are welcome to remain my guest as long as you require, but I feel that you will most likely wish to return to your family as soon as possible.”

  Lord Doubleton nodded.

  “Head back the way we came and the guards shall lead you out. I have further business to attend to here.” Ryan told him.

  Lord Doubleton nodded once again before turning and taking a brisk pace back down the hall.

  Ryan exited the cell and watched him leave. Certain the Lord was gone, he looked towards Meg’s cell and sent his magic forward to gauge her state.

  Meg had been closely listening to the whole scene, and when she felt his magic cautiously reach out to inspect her she couldn’t help but laugh. It was a harsh hard laugh, with no happiness or humour.

  “I see you are enjoying your stay.” Ryan commented, and was pleased to learn she was neither ill nor injured.

  “You’ll have to try harder than that, Haywood!” She told him, “Starving me will not endear me to you.”

  That made Ryan give a gentle laugh, “You are here of your own volition. I gave you the option to live freely, but no, Lady Turney was too stubborn and demanded a month in the hole.”

  Meg snorted loudly, “And it has been how long now? I do believe you just like the idea of having me prisoner.”

  Ryan came up and looked into her cell. His silver irises caught the torchlight, “It has only been two weeks.” He told her.

  “Don’t lie to me.” Meg urged.

  “I have no reason to.” He replied, and looked away.

  “Only two weeks?!” She was baffled and did not look forward to the rest of her sentence, “Then why bother speaking to me? Or are you just taking advantage of that execution?”

  “Two birds with one stone.” Ryan said happily, “But I do also have news for you. So it works out.”

  “Unless it is to release me, or feed me full rations, then I doubt I will care.”

  “It’s regarding Gavin.” Ryan grinned when he said it, and hearing Meg’s chains shift so she could near the door only made him grin more.

  Meg was right at her window now, “What about Gavin?” Was Ryan going to tell her he had finally found and killed him?

  “Well, it’s not about rations or your freedom, so,” He teased her.

  “What is the news?!” Meg demanded.

  “There was an interesting series of events recently.” Ryan wanted to draw out the story as much as possible to fray her patience, “A search party was investigating a rumoured sighting in a small town far to the Northeast of here. A town of mostly farmers, but a population of just over two hundred. So they have a proper blacksmith, pub, and even a carriage maker. Quaint little place with a large stone paved central square where the farmers and any travelling merchants hold a market every so often.”

  “Haywood, I swear to the gods, if you do not tell me…” Meg threatened.

  He ignored her, “A party of a dozen soldiers was sent to speak to the residents. You see, the rumour was quite weak, so it did not really appear to be worth their time. They went from house to house and interviewed each resident. Standard, if tedious, protocol.”

  “RYAN!” She shouted in rage.

  “They started their interviews with the farmsteads further out from town,”

  “Ryan, please!” She begged, “Is Gavin alive or not? Do you have him?”

  “None of the farmers seemed to know anything.” Ryan continued and his grin was audible, “So they soon moved into the town proper and began the arduous task of knocking on each door and speaking to those who answered. The first house belonged to a farrier, and he had no knowledge of any strange horses coming through the town.”

  Meg composed herself and tried and new tactic, “Your Majesty, please humble me by telling me what it is you wish for me to know.”

  That had Ryan halt his story and raise an eyebrow, “So I’m ‘Your Majesty’ once again now, am I?”

  “You can have whatever title you please, whether it be God King or Puff Pastry, Your Majesty.” Meg retorted between gritted teeth.

  Ryan burst into boisterous laughter that had him double over.

  Meg sighed in frustration, “I have no illusions about the balance of power here… Your Majesty.”

  Ryan was still chuckling, “Yet you are still so insolent.” He calmed his laughter, “I did find Gavin.”

  Meg froze and every bit of her silently urged Ryan to tell her more.

  “However, through intervention by The First once again, I still do not have him, nor is he dead.” Ryan was clearly bitter just saying the words.

  Meg let out her breath and dropped her head in relief. She found a small smile on her lips.

  “Don’t act so relieved; I found him once and I’ll find him again.” Ryan told her, “And now I have a pair of eyes in the sky scouring the land for him as well.”

  “Gave some of your soldiers the power of flight?” She asked.

  Ryan snickered, “Oh far better…” he left it at that. She wouldn’t believe him anyway. She’d learn soon enough if she gained another cellmate or when she was finally free, “Besides, by the look of Gavin, he’d be better off here in the dungeon.”

  “I very much doubt it.” Meg argued.

  Ryan shrugged, “He’s hardly thriving. Wherever The First is keeping him, it is not in luxury. Far from it.” He paused, “My soldiers had him in chains before me, and the chains must have weighed more than him. Gaunt, dirty, and nothing but bone.” A moment to let Meg take in his words, “The wilds are doing a far greater number on him than I have ever done.”

  Meg had assumed that if Gavin was with The First his survival wouldn’t be an issue. But it seemed that The First did not provide.

  “I wonder how he’ll fare come winter?” Ryan mused aloud.

  “He will fare fine.” Meg said mostly to convince herself.

  Ryan turned around to look into her cell once more. He rested the fingers of his clawed right on the bottom of the window, “Now if you would indulge _my_ curiosity for a moment…”

  Meg looked at him and narrowed her eyes in suspicion, “What is it?”

  “What was the plan? With Gavin? When he was King and you were lining up to be Queen?” Ryan asked.

  “Plan?” Meg scoffed, “I loved him – I still do. Not everyone manipulates those around them to achieve power like you do.”

  Ryan ignored the comment about him, “What I mean is; Gavin is one of The First’s heirs. Neither time nor age, nor illness, shall ever take him. But you, you _will_ die. And what then? I’m sure Gavin will weep. He will grieve for quite some time, undoubtedly. But then? When another fine young woman catches his eye… and _heart_?”

  Meg remained silent; was this an attempt at manipulating her?

  “Being dead you’d be privy to it all. Trust me, I know.” He further neared the little window and lowered his voice, “Watching him tenderly touch another, and whisper the same sweet nothings. Making the same lovely promises and grand statements of just how much he loves her… What then?”

  She didn’t know what she was feeling, but his words had stirred something dark within her. Was this jealousy? For some hypothetical future lover once she was dead and gone? It was lunacy! Yet she couldn’t shake it.

  Ryan retreated from the window with a smirk. From the expression on Meg’s face it was clear his words were having their desired effect, “Food for thought.” He shrugged, “I now have elsewhere to be. Goodbye Ms. Turney.” He disappeared into thin air.

  Meg didn’t know what to do with herself, so she simply shouted out in frustration and punched the wood of her door.

  “M’lady,” Kyle had also been listening to the whole ordeal.

  “I AM NOT A LADY!” Meg screamed at him, and immediately realised what she had done, “Kyle, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to – what I meant – I was stripped of my titles. Please don’t treat me differently.”

  “Apology accepted.” He then finished his earlier statement, “He is telling you what he knows will torment you. I never realised just how true those tales of his silver tongue were, but know he lies.”

  “That doesn’t make it sting any less. I know it’s idiocy to listen, but how can I not?” Meg replied.

  “If I had known you the Queen to be, I wouldn’t have so readily confessed my crimes to you.” Kyle forced a laugh.

  “I am no Queen, just as Gavin is no longer a King. And if I do become Queen now, it is through no will of my own.” She explained.

  “Does the Mad King woo all his women in such a manner?” Kyle asked jokingly.

   Meg snorted.

   “Your mind is your own. Do not let him into it. All else he can have, but you and only you are master of your mind.” Kyle told her.

  Meg appreciated those words, “You say you were a merchant? Hefty words for a merchant.”

  Kyle scoffed, “Are us merchants not allowed to be well-read?” he jested.

  “Don’t start with me. I have enough problems with the King, I don’t need to be jousting words with you as well.” Meg chided without anger.

  “Fair enough.” Kyle conceded.

  “Sorry. I just,” she huffed, “He really knows how to irritate me.”

  “I feel as if he would know how to irritate most.”

  Meg chuckled, “Yeah, probably.”

  Silence passed between them and Meg took it as an opportunity to cool down and think things through. She herself had recently thought about how Gavin would not age, but she hadn’t thought about what would happen afterwards, after her death. Was that selfish? To have Gavin to herself her whole life, and make him suffer when she died? And then to feel jealously if he decided to try and be happy once again?

  She was being irrational, and she knew it, but it wasn’t helping her change how she felt.

  Which just frustrated her further.

  What if Gavin stopped loving her when she began to age? Why should someone eternally in their twenties ever remain with an old crone of a woman?

  She returned to her corner and tightly hugged her knees.

  Her stomach moaned.

 

~*~

 

  Lord Dooley sat in the large ornate pseudo-throne that had once belonged to Lord Owen. It was made from the upturned roots of an ancient pine. Well polished and darkened over time, the wood of each arm was carved into the head of a wolf.

  Before him was the large war table Lord Owen had set. In its centre was a parchment map of the kingdom dotted with small wooden carvings representing his soldiers. They hadn’t been moved since Jeremy had taken charge.

  Behind him was another map, but this map was a work of art. Three stories tall and beautifully painted into the smooth stone, it depicted the kingdom in its entirety. Every castle, keep, and noble house was meticulously depicted in miniature, and below each was a metal hook. Hanging from each hook was a small wooden shield, no larger than Jeremy’s hand. Each was painted with the colours and sigil of the house that controlled the location.

  The castle in the capital had no hook or shield, and instead had a golden crown made of gold leaf above its towers. Clearly the artist had never believed that the crown would ever change hands.

  Lord Owen’s house sigil still hung beneath the little depiction of the hold Jeremy now sat in.

  This was now his grand hall, and it made him uncomfortable. It was all so foreign; he was not of noble blood and was hesitant to believe that all this was now his.

  He had no sigil, colours, or house words, and wondered when it would become necessary for him to choose them. It felt silly; what meaning could he possibly give an image? How could he be tasked with creating a symbol that all his descendants would follow and be proud of?

  It was too much pressure.

  Besides, all the colour combinations and ‘good’ animals had already been taken. Some houses had trees, objects, or celestial bodies for their sigil, but once again it appeared as if everything half decent had already been claimed.

  Maybe he should just choose something like a worm or snail and force his children to deal with it. He really didn’t have any issue flying the King’s banners as he was now, and secretly hoped he could do so indefinitely.

  Jeremy smiled to himself as he remembered the morning he had arrived back home with a troop of soldiers and informed his wife of the lordship.

  Kat hadn’t believed him. In fact, she had laughed at him, and refused to accept it. She was convinced it was a prank, and wasn’t going to begin packing her belongings. So Jeremy ordered his soldiers to begin corralling the Dooley chickens and cows to prove he was serious.

  Watching the soldiers carefully begin to tie up the cows behind their horses and cage the chickens had her suddenly realise it was no joke.

  Packing up their small homestead didn’t take too long; Jeremy had brought many chests and cases to speed up the process. What took the longest was finding and capturing their cats after they had been spooked by all the commotion.

  Then like some royal caravan, they rode to their new home.

  Jeremy sighed and leaned back into his seat; a castle was great when you were a guest, but living in one? It was far too much space. He was certain there was still several rooms he hadn’t seen, never mind actually stepped in or used.

  And like its previous owner, it still held a necromantic feel. As if something dark and hungry lived within the very walls.

  It didn’t help that he still had Lord Owen’s soul on a shelf in his study. He had not been able to think of what to do with it, so he had set it down on some folded cloth and left it alone. Maybe he’d give it to Matt to poke at.

 

  As if summoned by that thought, Sir Matt entered the Grand Hall. He stopped before the war table and bowed deeply, “Lord Jeremy.”

  Jeremy sighed in annoyance, “I told you to stop calling me ‘Lord’.”

  Matt chuckled and walked around the table to stand by Jeremy, “Yes but it makes you so uncomfortable, I can’t help but do so.”

  Jeremy shook his head, “What brought you here?”

  Matt’s smile faded, “The King’s dragon was spotted flying over the Tamrin Forest. It will undoubtedly stop by here soon, seeking food.”

  Jeremy groaned; The King had unleashed that beast on the land and ordered his Lords to serve it while it burned down swaths of forest and jungle. The move clearly meant that the King had lost his faith in his men’s ability to find Gavin and The First.

  Then again, a dragon was far more intimidating and impressive than some army that any man could command while wearing the crown.

  “Do we have pigs or a cow we can sacrifice to feed the King’s Beast?” Jeremy asked Matt.

  Matt took a deep breath and let it out slowly, “We do, but…”

  Jeremy looked up at Matt, urging him to speak his mind.

  “The Crown is already demanding a third of our grain and seed from this coming harvest. That’s double what was given the previous years, and this year our harvest is less than half. Why must we feed that demonic pet of his as well? Our livestock is needed to feed our people, not that beast.” Matt spoke freely.

  “I’ll provide you the ink and paper to write down your grievances, as well as a bird to send your complaint to The King.” Jeremy gave him a smile in jest.

  “Yeah, sure, just let me drive my dagger between my ribs first.” Matt mimed stabbing himself in the chest.

  Jeremy laughed, “Alright, enough, enough. Prepare the damned beast a meal and let me know when it arrives.”

  “I’m sure you won’t need me to make you aware. The sky will go dark and the very stones shall quake.” Matt remarked.

  “Just make sure the men don’t panic, then.” Jeremy waved him away.

  Matt bowed, “As you wish, _My Lord_.” He smirked, and turned to leave.

  Jeremy pouted as he watched Matt exit the hall. His promotion still felt like a mistake, and he only felt embarrassed every time Matt made a show of it.

  And, of course, if he were to ever voice his opinion that The King had been mistaken in his choice of Lord… Well it would be bad once that made it back to the capital. Very bad.

  He pulled out a fresh piece of paper, and readied his quill. Matt had been right about the grain harvest, and the people really could not spare to give away what The Crown was demanding. Even without handing off the third, he would have to ration food amongst his people in order for everyone to survive the winter.

  _His_ people. What an absurd concept. The responsibility was overwhelming, and The King was only making it more difficult.

  Maybe King Ryan was simply unaware of how poor their harvest was turning out to be. Yes, that had to be it; The Crown was trying to compensate for the poor harvests elsewhere and didn’t know that Jeremy’s lands were experiencing the same.

  He poured out his plea onto the paper. Ryan was a rational man; he would have to amend his demands upon learning of their situation. He wrote the facts and politely asked that the quota be eased. Signing his name, he paused.

  Was he to use Lord Owen’s seal?

  Jeremy watched the ink dry. He would have to use his seal, wouldn’t he? Where was it even kept? He sighed and leaned back in his chair; why was even the simple act of writing a letter difficult as a lord?

  The stress of this appointment was going to kill him long before a blade did. It was the little things that did it. They buzzed throughout his mind constantly distracting from the biggest problems, only to bite him when they were ignored.

  With a wooden clatter the window panes rattled in their frames and made Jeremy jump in his seat. He had a good idea as to what has caused the abrupt gust, but stood and looked out into the quad by the castle gates.

  A massive black scaled dragon had landed on the castle’s defensive outer wall. Its violet eyes shone like amethysts as the sunlight caught them, and its great claws sunk deep into the wall’s mortar.

  Matt reappeared in the Great Hall’s doorway, winded from his sprint. Huffing, he bent over to catch his breath and pointed towards the quad, “Dragon,”

  Jeremy nodded, “I noticed.” He walked over next to Matt, “Come, let us feed the damned thing.”

  Together they took a hurried pace out into to the quad.

  Guards and soldiers alike stood (what they deemed) a safe distance from the dragon on the wall. They were clearly relieved when their Lord came and ordered them back to their posts. No one seemed ready to believe that the dragon was no threat, so getting as far away from it as possible was the most comfortable course of action.

  “Great dragon!” Jeremy made his way forward and bowed. He had no idea what the correct way to address a dragon was, but would do his best, “What brings you here to honour us with your mighty presence?”

  Matt shot him a look telling him to tone the flattery down a bit, but Jeremy ignored it. It was better to do too much instead of too little.

  “I hunger.” The Dragon’s voice was a deep growl.

  “Of course!” Jeremy forced a smile, “And we have prepared you a meal!” He looked to Matt.

  “Yes!” Matt turned to the Dragon, “A fat sow and a fresh wild boar – is that to your liking?”

  “Mmm, where?” The Dragon lowered its head toward them and sniffed the air.

  Matt turned to some servants hiding in a doorway, “Get our guest’s meal!” He hollered.

  The servants quickly nodded and rushed away to get the pigs.

  “We were unsure of how you prefer your meat, so both pigs have been seasoned, but not cooked.” Matt explained, and hid his relief at the servants returning with the meat.

  Four servants to a pig, they carried out the meal on two wooden pallets. An apple was placed in each pig’s mouth and some greens arranged beneath them. The servants placed the pigs down at the base of the wall and with bows they returned back into the safety of the castle.

  The Dragon gave the pigs a sniff and arched its neck back. Its jaws parted to reveal a growing purple inferno deep within.

  Matt and Jeremy both hurried to push each other further back from the beast as it unleashed a torrent of flame.

  The pigs were charred black and filled the air with the scent of burnt flesh.

  The Dragon gave a low but happy hum before tearing the first pig in half. Bones cracked and snapped as it chewed.

  Matt and Jeremy watched with horrified curiosity as the pigs were devoured. They remained silent as The Dragon quickly finished up the last of the meal.

  Licking its jaws and then giving its claws a simple cleaning, The Dragon seemed to lose all interest in the two men.

  Jeremy stepped forward and hesitated before speaking, “Was the meal adequate?”

  Seemingly noticing that the men were still there, The Dragon responded, “Yes.” It licked its jaws once more before spreading its wings. With a massive blast of wind, it launched itself back into the air.

  They watched as it circled the castle once before heading off Northward.

  Matt crossed his arms and looked to Jeremy.

  Jeremy tore his eyes away from the shrinking black dot over the horizon, and noticed Matt looking at him, “What?”

  Matt shook his head, “Nothing, but I wonder if that beast is so rude when The King is present.”

  Jeremy smiled, “I’ll add that complaint to my letter.”

  Matt hit his Lord on the shoulder, “You better not!”

  Jeremy mimed writing with a quill, “Your Majesty, is your Dragon always so uncouth? Sir Matt Bragg was offended by its discipline and manner. Please remedy.”

  Matt scoffed, “If you do, I’ll be sure to let him know how you _really_ feel about the lordship.” He threatened.

  “The way things are going, I think I much prefer the opportunity to be executed over continuing to be Lord.” Jeremy gave a soft laugh.

  “You’ll do fine… Everyone will be fine.” Matt immediately switched mood to comfort him.

  “I really fucking hope so.” He replied quietly and gave Matt a worried look.

 

  ~*~

 

  After The King’s visit, Meg noticed that her meals began to come more frequently and with regularity. It was no feast, but after the near starvation of before, it was a relief she had never known. If she had to guess, she was receiving one meal a day, and by that logic she began to keep count. It was enough to ease her belly and she felt far better both physically and mentally.

  Of course, this was still no vacation, and with her mind no longer dulled by hunger, she found herself more bored than ever before. It was a state of constant agitation and near manic energy for which she had no outlet. In desperation she began to grind her chains against the stone floor with the faint hope she would file her way free.

  Every time the metal grew too hot for her to touch, she was forced to stop, and while it cooled she would tug and pull at her hair without thought.

  On day three Kyle pleaded with her to stop whatever she was doing as the noise was ghastly, but by day four she was at it again.

  It was on day six that The King visited her once more.

  Ryan was in casual garb. Leaning against her cell door he peered in from the corner of his eye.

  Meg didn’t bother with a greeting, “Have you more news for me? Or is my sentence finished?”

  “Neither.” Ryan responded.

  “They why do you grace me with your presence?” Meg asked.

  “You have a sharp mind and plenty of time for thought. I may have a sharper mind, but have no time.” Ryan smiled knowing the comparison would irritate Meg.

  “Whatever you say, Your Majesty.” Meg crossed her arms and rolled her eyes.

  Ryan’s smile faded and his tone lost its playfulness, “You undoubtedly know about the lackluster harvests, and upcoming lean times. I have imposed quotas on grain, seed, fish, and game, kingdom-wide, but it will not be enough. I have my own plan with how to help increase the food supply, and although it is showing initial promising results, I cannot depend on it entirely. If you were to think on this, and offer any ideas… It would not harm your position.”

  “What solution could I possibly come up with? I don’t even know what yours is.” Meg argued.

  “The iron and coal mines.” Ryan reminded her and then explained, “Carted in food waste and dung; mushrooms are already beginning to creep throughout the tunnels. However, I can’t depend on them to grow fast enough to replenish what is harvested in order to meet demand. If we could have at least one more food source… It would save many lives.”

  “Mushrooms…” Meg murmured. It was brilliant: they grew fast, in great number, and since they grew underground without sunlight, they could be grown year-round. She wouldn’t have thought of it, and now Ryan wanted her to think of yet another option?

  “Like I said; you have the time to think. I do not.” Ryan told her, “I don’t need anything solid or particularly practical – I just need ideas.”

  “Magic or mundane?” Meg wanted to clarify.

  “Either.”

  Meg frowned, “You took so kindly to me suggesting conjuration last time…”

  “You know why. And it had mostly to do with _how_ you suggested it.” Ryan chided, “Besides, you know it wouldn’t be sustainable – a conjuror would require more energy to create the food than would be gained from it. What’s the point of having someone eat two meals in order to conjure one?”

  “How long do I have?” Meg asked.

  “The sooner, the better.”

  “And none of the court or council have thought of anything?” Meg found that unbelievable.

  “Nothing good. Jack wanted to build greenhouses – but the first crops wouldn’t be ready until mid to late winter, nor would they be nearly enough. And Kdin… Well, Kdin’s suggestion was far less tasteful.”

  “Oh? I was never close with Kdin, what did he suggest?” Meg remembered the strange man fascinated by bread.

  “Eating the dead.” Ryan stated, “Both zombies and those who die of starvation.”

  “Oh.” Meg was disgusted and it showed clearly on her face.

  “Yeah.” Ryan nodded, agreeing with her disgust. He wasn’t going to mandate that his people become cannibals.

  “Gross.” Kyle uttered under his breath, but Ryan heard it.

  Ryan looked towards Kyle’s cell with amusement, and then back to Meg, “Maybe your neighbour could be of use in this as well.” He moved towards Kyle’s cell, “You are the grain merchant that cheated sales, aren’t you?” he asked him.

  “Yes, Your Majesty, I was a grain merchant.” Kyle meekly responded.

  “Then know that the nobles you cheated are demanding your head in a public execution. They say that the upcoming shortage increases the severity of your crimes ten-fold.” Ryan informed him.

  Kyle fearfully remained silent.

  “He is a good man, Your Majesty – the sole reason I retain my sanity.” Meg decided to try and help, “He does not deserve death.”

  Ryan raised an eyebrow and turned to Meg, “You would attempt to influence my judgement, Turney?”

  Meg bowed her head, “I would never presume to do so; but if this is to be his trial, then let his character be known.”

  Ryan smiled; Meg was cleverly watching her language – if only she had done so earlier, she wouldn’t have ended up in prison – “I see you are finally learning the rules of this game.” He commented and then turned back to Kyle, “I do not seek to execute you, but the nobles are not making that an easy decision.”

  Kyle’s hope flared at that, and he swallowed nervously in anticipation of what would be said next.

  “And since when is the Dark God at the mercy of his nobles?” Meg interjected.

  Ryan sighed – Meg was getting bold again. He really should have expected it, “A month in prison does not a death sentence equate. They will undoubtedly spill his blood with their own hands if I release him. You understand?” He went and stood at the door to Kyle’s cell, “But I can justify it.” He whispered to him.

  “Your Majesty,” Kyle begged.

  “I am in need of grain merchants – they are the best way to ensure quotas are met and rations properly delivered. You have an existing network for supply and know which vendors can be trusted. This winter will be difficult and even the most upstanding men will consider cheating on prices, sales, or quota.

  The question then is: could I trust you to be The Crown’s eyes and ears in the market?” Ryan proposed his deal.

  Kyle did not hesitate in accepting, “Yes, Your Majesty!”

  “Do you swear on your life?” Ryan asked.

  “I do; I swear on my life, Your Majesty!”

  Ryan’s lip curled upward, “Do you swear on your soul?”

  Meg’s head shot up at those words. The only reasons one would require such an oath were necromantic or worse.

  “I–” Kyle began to pledge.

  “Kyle, wait!” Meg shouted, interrupting him.

  Ryan’s head snapped towards Meg’s cell and his eyes narrowed, “Know your place, Turney!” he ordered.

  Meg built up her courage and pointedly ignored Ryan’s glare, “Do not give him your soul, Kyle. Never! It can only be used in the darkest of magics!” She spoke as quickly as she could, “You’ll be a slave – without will or mind, you–” her voice disappeared as Ryan’s magic choked her.

  Ryan advanced towards her cell as she gasped for air, “And here I thought you had learned your place.” He growled. Whipping his head back towards Kyle he asked again, “Do you swear on your soul?!”

  Meg squawked as she struggled to intake air.

  Kyle was now far less sure, “I- I,” His other option was execution, so he took a breath and quickly blurt the words out, “I swear on my soul, Your Majesty.”

  Meg gasped and gulped down air as she was released. Falling to the floor she broke into a fit of coughing.

  “Excellent.” Ryan calmed and smiled kindly, “The Guard shall come for you in the morning.” He told Kyle and then turned back to Meg, “You, on the other hand, have earned yourself further time.”

  “Fuck you!” Meg shouted.

  Ryan’s smile didn’t waver and Meg could only see it as condescending. It further boiled her blood.

  Ryan straightened his posture and with a shallow nod to Meg, he teleported away.

 

  ~*~

 

  Eight meals after Kyle’s release, Meg began talking to herself in a desperate attempt to fill the silence. No new prisoners had come in, and after several failures trying to strike up conversation with the stone-faced guard that brought her meals, she saw no other option. If she was to converse, it would have to be with herself.

  Was she staving off her descent into madness, or was this the first step? The question tortured her; she knew that Ryan was attempting to break her, and what better way to do it than to leave her to her thoughts?

  This wasn’t the form of torture he was best known for, but torture it still was.

  Eleven meals after Kyle’s release her heart jumped in excitement as she heard new footfalls outside her door. These were not the armoured boots of a guard.

  It only took her one guess, “Your Majesty?”

  Ryan’s quiet chuckle was enough of an answer, “You sound happy to see me.”

  “How long am I to rot here? Please; I can feel the madness on the edges of my mind.” Meg spoke gently.

  “Then that would be one of the swiftest descents I have ever seen; you must have quite the demons of your own.” Ryan remarked.

  “Your Majesty, I do nothing but rot and stew: my man is hunted and ageless, my captor,” she censored herself, “ruthless. I am sure I do not need to explain the thoughts that plague me.”

 “The guards say you’ve been speaking to yourself.”

  “Who else do I have?”

  “Right now you have me.” Ryan stated.

  Meg was still in no state to fall for that, “I told you I have no secrets of use to you in finding Gavin. Or anything else you could possibly want, for that matter.”

  “You wrongly assume this is about me.” Ryan told her, “This is about you, and I am here to listen.”

  Now she was confused and curious, “Do you seriously expect me to confide in you?! Why?”

  Ryan exhaled, “Fine. I just thought it would be courteous to offer you the opportunity.” He shrugged, “I can leave.”

  “Wait!” Meg didn’t want to be alone again so soon, “Don’t leave.”

  “My time could be better spent elsewhere…” Ryan stated but didn’t make to leave.

  “I have thought on the problem you gave me, about the coming famine.” Meg knew that would catch his attention.

  “It’s not going to be a _famine_ ,” He argued.

  “Fine, lean time, or what ever you will call it. I have thought on it.”

  “And?”

  “What about the Nether? I have never been, but I have read that mushrooms love the red soil.” Meg explained, “Could a farm be carved out and guarded from Ghasts?”

  Ryan was quiet as he thought it over.

  “Would it work?” Meg asked hesitantly.

  “It has merit…” Ryan responded, still clearly thinking it through, “A great deal of stone would have to be excavated and transported into the Nether to build walls high and thick enough, but convincing workers to farm the Nether will be difficult.”

  Meg immediately had another idea, “Make prisoners do it!”

  Ryan smiled, liking the way she thought, “I’ll share this with Captain Pattillo. I think it may work, although the populace will grow grossly sick of fungi.”

  “Better than dying.” Meg scoffed.

  “You’ve done well.” Ryan complimented.

  Meg rolled her eyes and upon finishing realised that Ryan had disappeared. She stood and stepped forward to confirm that he was indeed gone.

  Her toes hit something soft.

  Immediately she kneeled to investigate what it was – there was nothing soft in her cell.

  It was a large blanket, neatly folded. Thick and made of wool, it was nothing premium, but its warmth would not be matched.

  Meg almost cried as she hurried to unfold it and wrap herself within. Not only would she know warmth again, the blanket was large enough to cover her and then some. It was cover, mattress, and pillow in one.

  Tears begun to fall as she realised that she would now be able to sleep in comfort. Real proper sleep – not shallow naps abruptly broken by discomfort and pain.

  With that thought, and her face still wet, she fell into a sleep deeper than she had had in weeks. It was a proper dreamless slumber.

 

~*~

 

  Jack sat atop his horse outside the northern gate to the capital. The King had asked him to greet the Joneses before they entered the city, and he had happily agreed. He felt it was his duty to warn them of what Ryan had become before they met him. He was sure they’d heard the rumours, but he needed to tell it to them himself.

  Four members of the Guard were with him, each sat atop their own horse and armed with a pike. At the end of each pike flew Ryan’s crimson and gold banner.

  Jack could see the Jones’ caravan emerge from around a bend in the road. He still had some time before they would reach the gate, so he weighed his options.

  Whatever he told Michael and Lindsay would have to be in confidence that they would not repeat it to anyone. And that meant Jack could not trust his men. Everyone was now a potential spy for The King, for he was the most feared man in the land, and no one dared question his authority.

  That also meant that he would be unable to tell the Joneses about how Ryan was now devouring souls. They would both be outraged and take the matter to Ryan directly.

  And Ryan would immediately know it was Jack who told them.

 

  Jack turned to the four guards, “I will ride out to meet them. Remain here and wait for my return.” If he was going to have any chance of speaking with them privately it was going to be now.

  He urged his horse forward into a trot.

  Once he covered about half the distance, Michael and Lindsay recognised him and raced forward to meet him, leaving their eight guards behind to watch their belongings.

  Meeting in the middle they all dismounted and embraced.

  “Captain it has been far too long!” Michael beamed.

  Lindsay was grinning as well, “Only a few months for you, Michael; I haven’t seen Jack for far longer!”

  “An absolute pleasure seeing you both again.” Jack replied with a bow, “It is always excellent to see you faring well and in good health.”

  “I only wish this were a casual visit.” Michael complained, “No doubt you know of the impending trouble the North will face this winter.”

  “Unfortunately, I am far too well aware.” Jack nodded, “But I have grimmer news.”

  “Any chance it could wait until we are settled? I hate souring reunions.” Lindsay crossed her arms.

  “No.” Jack frowned, “Tell me, what rumours have you heard of King Ryan?”

  Michael grunted, “Nothing good… or sane.”

  Lindsay nodded, “He’s declared himself a god, hasn’t he?”

  “And they say he grew the horns of a demon for killing a thousand men.” Michael snorted, clearly not believing it.

  Jack wasn’t sure where to start, so he just picked a topic and dove in, “He has a dedicated cult of worshippers, and they’re building him a temple. I don’t believe that he truly thinks himself a god, but he doesn’t deny the title.

  I don’t know about killing a thousand men; but he does indeed now have horns. His eyes are also… inhuman.

  And his right hand sports claws befitting an Enderman.”

  “You’re shitting me, aren’t you?” Michael was skeptical.

  Jack shook his head, “I wanted to warn you both.” He paused, “King Ryan has also greatly grown in power since he ousted Gavin. Please watch yourselves around him – he can strike out without warning.”

  “But we are not his enemies…” Lindsay pointed out, “He has no reason to harm us.”

  “Don’t assume he needs a reason.” Michael muttered, and then spoke back to Jack, “Thank you for informing us. I will have to watch my tongue more than I would normally.”

  Jack nodded, “Yes, please do, and do not tell The King of my warning… he will assume the worst.”

  “The worst?” Lindsay cocked her head in curiosity, “And what could the worst possibly entail?”

  “Some things cannot be spoken.” Jack quickly told her.

  Lindsay was still itching to know, but pursed her lips and nodded. If Jack could not tell them, it was dangerous indeed. Only the Gods knew what magic or oaths Ryan had placed on the poor Captain.

 

  The Jones caravan reached their meeting point and the group moved together towards the capital. Jack’s guards lead them through the gates and began to clear the road ahead.

  “The King will greet you at the Castle’s inner wall. He has had a dinner prepared in your honour.” Jack casually informed them, hoping to make light conversation.

  “Good, I’m starving.” Michael replied.

  “And I’m tired of hard bread and salted meat.” Lindsay whined but wore a smile.

  Michael gave her a knowing look, “But that might be all we have this winter.”

  “Then I’ll enjoy this meal all the more!” Lindsay playfully snapped.

  Jack chuckled, “It will be more mushrooms than bread.”

  “Oh?” Lindsay looked to him.

  Jack nodded, “Be ready for plenty of stew.”

 

  The castle sat directly in the center of the great city. The roads nearest the castle travelled outward like spokes on a wheel until they reach the Old Wall. The Old Wall was the first wall that had been built around the city at the time of its founding, but as time passed, it was eventually outgrown. Now most of the city was beyond these walls, and the roads were haphazard, winding, and narrow right up to where they met the New Wall. Even now, The New Wall was not so new, and houses had begun to spring up outside it.

  As they travelled up the streets crowds formed around them interested by the commotion and the flying of banners. It was well known that Michael Jones was one of The First’s heirs, so his blue and yellow sigil of a prancing bear was immediately recognised.

  It would feed the rumour mill for quite some time. But that was how it always was.

  They passed the Old Wall into the Inner City, and the architecture grew more ornate and ancient. Most nobles made their homes here, as well as a few more affluent business people. The streets were better paved, and far wider. A stark contrast to the snaking claustrophobia of the Outer City.

 

  Michael took a deep breath and looked upwards. It was nice to have a clear view of the sky again.

  “Not used to the city?” Jack asked him with a smile as he noticed his expression.

  Michael chuckled, “I’ll admit that our largest city pales in comparison to the capital, but if the capital ever saw the snows we do, half of it would tumble. Crushed and smothered.”

  “Then I’m thankful The First built it here in the center of the continent, not where you decided it best to build.” Jack laughed.

  “I like it less crowded, and the cold ensures it remains that way.” Michael retorted.

  “But the cold is still dreadful.” Lindsay exaggerated a shiver.

  Michael turned to her with an upset expression. “You said you prefer the cold!”

  Lindsay gave a large grin, “I lied.” She stuck her tongue out at Michael as he pouted, “But I do love you, and you rule the North; so I have little choice in the matter.”

  Michael’s pout turned into a small smile and he looked back to Jack, “How much further now?”

  Jack pointed to the castle towering over every other structure; its tall spires looming over all else, “Your eyes work as well as mine.”

  “Ever helpful, Jack.” Michael threw him a stare.

  “I do what I can.” Jack grinned.

  Lindsay laughed, leaning back in her saddle, “You should have seen that answer coming.” She told Michael.

  “The roads have been cleared for us; so twenty minutes at most, I’d wager.” Jack answered properly.

  Michael nodded.

 

  They made idle chatter until reaching the castle’s outer wall. There, more guards welcomed them within, leading them towards the inner wall.

  The King was before the inner wall, waiting atop his new war stallion. His new steed stood tall with its neck arched. Its pelt was solid black except at each ankle where it was snow white down to the hoof.

 

  The King outstretched his arms with a wide smile, “Welcome Lord Michael! Welcome Lady Lindsay!”

  Jack bowed his head and rode over to join his king.

  “Greetings Your Majesty!” Lindsay threw up her hands as well and grinned, trying not to stare at his altered features.

  “An honour, King Ryan.” Michael bowed atop his horse, and hoped his face didn’t betray his horror.

  Stable hands hurried forward with their eyes to the ground.

  Ryan dismounted and handed the reins to the nearest stable hand, this signalled for everyone else to follow suit.

  He approached the Joneses, “I know my appearance warrants curiosity, but satisfy mine first: what rumour have you heard about it?” He extended his right to Michael in greeting.

  Without hesitation Michael took the clawed hand and gave it a firm shake, “They say that the horns are your reward for slaying a thousand men.”

  Ryan burst into laughter, “That one is new to me; I think I quite like it. Most say that I’m a demon, or a Nether Lord, or some variation thereof.”

  Lindsay offered the King her hand, “Then what is the true tale?”

  Ryan gently took her hand and gave it a kiss, “Ah, well, maybe that’s a tale to tell over dinner.”

  “And your right arm?” Lindsay asked.

  Ryan chuckled, “That is a magical injury; a scar now, really. Quite surprising I don’t have more such wounds considering how I deal in the arcane.”

  Michael had to nod, “And to not receive any until just recently…”

  “Luck; dumb luck.” Ryan replied with a smile.

  Lindsay shook her head with a frown, “Must I tell you to be more careful?”

  Ryan began to lead them into the castle, “I’ve done well so far, haven’t I? And besides, many would only consider my death a boon, I’d wager.”

  Lindsay ‘tsked’, “Don’t be so cynical…”

  “Yeah, they’re not going to want your head until winter.” Michael commented and received a warning glare from Jack.

  Ryan laughed at the comment, “I hope to use this winter to raise my approval; I’m not planning on letting anyone starve.”

  “How?” Michael asked, “The harvests are crap, and empty bellies breed malcontent.”

  “Clever resource allocation between holds, and mushrooms – many, many mushrooms.” Ryan told him, “I will explain in detail later, once you are bathed and fed. I hope that you too will come to believe it possible to weather this winter in relative comfort.” He seemed to remember something, “Oh and of course, I have other initiatives planned for the kingdom. I plan to do some major restructuring that wasn’t possible during my last reign; due to it being cut short so suddenly. It should all benefit the people quite nicely, but will require significant work and support from my Lords.”

  “’Work’ is usually code for ‘money’.” Lindsay stated, “Wasn’t there just a rebellion based on your taxation laws alone?”

  “Yes, well, I dealt with it, and plan to deal with any future _unrest_. Lords can be replaced.” Ryan answered, “I build my reputation for a reason.”

  “To inspire fear and deter disobedience… There are other ways to do so, you do know that.” Michael muttered.

  “I don’t care what they think of me as long as they obey. I don’t have the time to waste on pleasantry. Not now.” Ryan overheard and took it as an opportunity to explain.

  That silenced the group.

  They reached the main entrance to the castle where servants were already present and waiting on them. A group of handmaidens approached Lindsay and ushered her away. Another group of servants took Michael’s weapon belt and cloak, before ushering him away as well.

  Two servants remained to wait on The King, but Ryan dismissed them, leaving him and Jack alone.

  Ryan spoke to Jack without turning to face him, “What did you tell them?”

  Jack blinked, “Pardon?”

  Ryan turned to Jack, “What did you tell them before they met me?” His eyes were accusatory and investigated Jack for any sign of treachery. Something dark and malicious stirred behind them.

  “I told them of your appearance, and nothing more.” Jack told him truthfully.

  Ryan observed him for a moment before smiling, but his smile could not hide the darkness in his eyes, “Good. Have it remain that way, and all shall be well.”

  Jack bowed deep, “I gave you my word, Your Majesty.”

  Ryan nodded, but didn’t seem satisfied. His fingers twitched, “Good.” With that he teleported away.

  Jack straightened and let out a shuddering breath. The King was becoming more and more suspicious of his loyalties, that much was clear.

 

~*~

 

  Gavin scratched at his growing beard as he chewed on a tough dried root. He watched Geoff busy himself by the fire.

  Mouth full, he asked, “And how is this not magic?”

  Geoff threw a final bundle of herbs into the fire, and sat down cross-legged at the edge of their fire pit, “Technically it is, but it’s different.” He answered.

  “You said no bloody magic for months, and now you’re going to cast ancient magic, but ‘it doesn’t count’.” Gavin was clearly irritated, “Any other magic that ‘doesn’t count’ we could maybe use to help us?”

  “Gavin,” Geoff sighed, “Can we stop having this argument?” he sounded tired, “And, this **is** going to help us.”

  Gavin still didn’t appear convinced, but he too was tired of the magic argument, “Fine, what do you need me to do?”

  “Just keep an eye out; if I get interrupted I’ll fumble it.” Geoff told him.

  Gavin nodded and watched as Geoff closed his eyes.

  Geoff took a deep breath and worked to slow both his breathing and heartbeat. He hadn’t had reason to perform this ritual for almost a century, and hoped he could still do it.

  As an immortal, his soul was bound to the mortal realm, and unable to pass on. Ironically, it made contacting the dead far easier, as an immortal soul could communicate with the dead without ever traversing into the spirit realm; something no mortal could do (which was the bulk of the reason why necromancy was so dangerous). For Geoff, it was much like watching smoke coil and float away, with no risk of being carried away with it. It meant that in any matter of life or death, Geoff was really no different then a rock; he could be broken or mended, but he would continue to exist.

  And that was something that could never be changed.

  Gavin saw Geoff open his eyes. They were clouded over; glazed with the milky white found on corpses and Gavin had to hold himself back from asking if Geoff was alright.

  To Geoff the world was now built of mist, every object and living being wavered and shimmered; being eroded by the tides of time. Only he was solid.

  The voices of the dead began to grow, as more and more took notice of him. They each brought Geoff their concerns, their worries, their unfinished business.

 

  _My son is unmarried, find him a wife…_

_…killed me, avenge my death_

_She doesn’t know how to care for my horse, she’s going to kill it…_

_I buried the deed beneath the oak, my family must know!_

Geoff had no choice but to ignore them. He was searching for those who would bring him to The King.

  _I seek the madman on the throne,_ He projected out to all the souls that would listen, _Let me bring him your wrath. I intend he pays for his crimes._

The dead quieted down, as if pensive.

  A wail began to sound, and then another, and another.

  Geoff cringed at the noise, but waited to hear what they had to say.

  Ghostly hands began to grab at him and their words became clear;

  _Defiler!_

_Murderer!_

_Heretic!_

_Tell me something I don’t know!_ Geoff was growing irritated of their noise.

  _DEVOURER!_ One voice screeched above the others.

  _Devourer!_ Another voice picked up the scream.

  _No soul is safe!_

_Devourer of souls!_

_Devourer!_

Geoff tensed and felt his gut contort as the dead continued their chorus of accusations. He had to confirm what they were saying, _Is The Mad King devouring souls to further his power?_

  The world around him swirled and shifted as the hands of the dead pulled him through time and space. Geoff fought vertigo as the world slowly became discernible once again.

  He was in a dungeon. He took a good look at the narrow hall and the heavy iron braced wooden doors to the cells.

  This wasn’t just any dungeon – it was _his_ dungeon. The Royal Dungeon beneath the castle in the capital.

The sound of leather boots on stone caught his attention and he turned. King Ryan was walking down the hall with the prisoner ledger in his hands. In it was recorded every inmate, their crime, and their sentence.

  Geoff saw how Gavin’s recounting of Ryan’s appearance was no exaggeration. Ryan stood before him solid among the fog, his details defined and edges hard. Such a clear image was something Geoff had only seen in himself. It must mean the spirits wanted his full attention on Ryan.

  Ryan opened the ledger and flipped through a few pages. His eyes scanned the page, and seemingly finding what he was looking for, Ryan looked up at the cell doors before him.

  Geoff followed him as he unlocked a cell and went inside.

  Within was a man who appeared relatively healthy, as if the dungeons hadn’t yet had the time to rob him of the will to live. Blond-haired and brown-eyed he looked to the door as it opened. His face paled as he saw that it was The King in his cell, and not just another guard. His entire form wavered, trembling as it shed fog.

  The prisoner fell to his hands and knees, touching his forehead to the floor, “Please, Your Majesty, have mercy and make my death swift. I know my crimes.”

  Geoff could only feel disgusted as he saw Ryan frown in mild disappointment at the man’s acceptance of his fate.

“Is that all?” Ryan asked.

  “I wish to die with what little honour I have.” Tears dropped from his eyes. He remained in his bowed position.

Ryan didn’t hesitate. Without so much as a blink, he watched the prisoner instantly liquefy and hit the floor with a slight splash.

  Geoff was left gaping, overwhelmed. He was horrified, disgusted, outraged, and left speechless. Ryan had just devoured the man’s soul without challenge or ceremony. It could only mean that this was just another on a long list of victims.

  Ryan snorted, “ _Honour._ ” He said it mockingly and with distaste.

With a violent gasp, Geoff found himself back in the forest seated in front of the fire.

  Gavin jumped in his reclined position next to him, startled by the sudden sound, “So? What did you see?” he pushed himself up into a proper sitting position.

  Geoff was unable to tear his eyes away from the fire, “Haywood’s a monster.” He said quietly.

  “I told you!” Gavin was irked to learn that Geoff hadn’t believed his description of Ryan’s appearance.

  Geoff shook his head, “No, not his appearance.” He guessed what Gavin was referring to, “He’s - He’s…” he faded out and looked to Gavin with a grim expression.

  Gavin grew worried, “He’s what..?”

  “He’s devouring souls.”

  Gavin wasn’t sure how to react; he’d never heard of that before, but it clearly had Geoff in distress, “What does that mean?”

  “It’s…” Geoff took a moment to think, “It’s cannibalism. Instead of eating the flesh, he eats the soul –  using it to further his magical potential.”

  “So he’s getting more powerful?” Gavin wanted to confirm.

  Geoff nodded, “I don’t know how he learned how to do it, or even, that it exists… Burnie worked so hard to destroy every trace of it. It’s supposed to be a secret among us immortals: we decided it was too powerful a temptation for mortals… but Haywood has somehow managed it.

  To destroy a soul; to destroy the one eternal thing that anyone has… I can’t imagine how he has justified it.”

  “So you and the other immortals knew about this?”

  “There’s lots of evil shit in the world, Gavin. We figured we were doing everyone a favour.” Geoff ran his fingers through his beard, “But now Haywood’s figured it out. I don’t know how to counter it, but I do know that the longer we wait the more souls he’s going to consume.”

  That had Gavin perk up, “Does that mean your plan of us hiding here in the woods has come to an end?”

  “I have no choice but to stop him before I can’t.” Geoff told him, “But this also means he’s more powerful than he has ever been.” He looked to Gavin and frowned, “I can’t risk him getting his hands on you.”

  “Wot?!” Gavin knew exactly what Geoff was saying, “If you think I’m just going to sit here with my thumbs up my arse – **Don’t you dare!** ”

  “You don’t know how to defend yourself against something like this–”

  Gavin cut him off angrily, “Then _teach_ me!” he flailed his arms in frustration, “You moan and whinge but never DO anything!”

  Geoff’s face hardened, “Gavin,”

  “No! Stop treating me like some helpless child, and give me what I need to get better! Help me, instead of coddling me!” Gavin yelled at him.

  Geoff groaned and pushed himself to his feet. Without saying a word, he walked into their hut and returned with his sheathed sword in his hands. He tossed the sword to Gavin.

  Gavin clumsily caught it, fumbling with it and looking to Geoff.

  Geoff crossed his arms behind his back, “If you can manage to land a solid hit on me, then I’ll bring you into the fight.”

  Gaping, Gavin didn’t know what to say.

  “Draw the damn sword!” Geoff ordered, “You think you can hold your own against a magic user like Ryan? Fucking prove it!” he shouted.

  “G-Geoff, I-” Gavin stuttered.

  “DRAW THE SWORD!” Geoff bellowed, causing Gavin to jump.

  Gavin quickly drew the blade and threw the sheath aside. He took a breath and entered an offensive stance. Geoff’s blade wasn’t as unwieldy as Ryan’s, but it was still foreign in his hand.

  He attempted to size up Geoff as he would any other opponent: tall, long reach. Weapon-less but not unarmed – magic user. No armour.

  Gavin tightened his grip and charged.

  Instantly he felt Geoff’s magic rush him. His feet were pulled out from under him until they were above his head. He yelped but held onto his sword as Geoff’s magic dangled him upside-down a good three feet above the ground.

  He ineffectually swung the sword towards Geoff as his face began to turn red from the blood rush.

  “Do you need further explanation?” Geoff taunted, and used his magic to give Gavin a good shake.

  Gavin squawked and ended up dropping the sword as he was shaken, “Let me down!”

  He was released and hit the ground with his back and a dull thud.

  “That same spell can be used to dismember. Ryan wouldn’t hesitate.” Geoff approached Gavin, “You’d have been quartered.”

  Gavin wasn’t ready to give up just yet. He could fight dirty too.

  Geoff jumped to dodge a swing at his shins, as Gavin once more picked up his blade.

  “Really, Gavin?” Geoff stepped back and watched Gavin return into an offensive stance.

  “You didn’t say how many tries I get.” Gavin smirked, and pushed his bangs aside.

  Geoff narrowed his gaze, “I’ll beat you bloody.” He warned.

  Gavin charged again, and could sense that Geoff’s magic wasn’t reaching out towards him like before.

  This time, he hit an invisible wall, as solid as stone.

  “ _OOOF!_ ” Air was forced from his lungs as he was thrown back into the ground by his own inertia.

  Geoff snickered and shook his head.

  Gavin brushed himself off with a grumble and stood up. He huffed but refused to say anything. Clearly he wasn’t going to outmatch Geoff’s magic with strength or speed. Instead, he tried to remember everything he had learned about it.

  Most spells relied on sight, didn’t they? And couldn’t mages predict the actions of other casters just by sensing the fluctuations in their magic?

  He wasn’t the most sensitive to magic, but maybe he was sensitive _enough_.

 

  Geoff only laughed when Gavin came at him once more.

  Gavin dived into a roll, and when he began to straighten, he felt Geoff’s magic reach out towards him. He grabbed a handful of soil with his free hand and pitched it at Geoff’s face.

  Geoff cursed him out as it hit his eyes, and Gavin felt the magic make a blind grab for him. Gavin threw himself aside as far as he could.

  It was just far enough.

  Geoff’s spell missed him, and Gavin wasn’t going to hesitate. He rushed Geoff with his blade aimed to drive him through the chest.

  “You fucking bitch!” Geoff spat and cracked open an eye enough to see Gavin’s charge. In pain, he was forced to close them again, but wasn’t about to let Gavin win.

  Gavin thrust the blade forward and hit nothing but air. Geoff was gone – teleported away.

  Geoff was stood atop their newly crafted roof, “You cheated!” he complained while rubbing his crying eyes.

  Gavin spun around to face him, “There’s no such thing as cheating when you fight someone like Ryan!”

  Geoff growled and then retorted, “But you still didn’t get the hit, did you?!”

  “Only because you fled!” Gavin argued.

  “I dodged!”

  “And I dodged your spell!” Gavin pointed out.

  “You didn’t dodge shit; I missed!” Geoff pointed at him angrily.

  Gavin shook his head, “No, I dodged it!”

  Geoff leapt down from the roof of their hut, “Fine, if you think you dodged, it means you think you can do it again.” He threw his magic at him, “So do it again!”

  Gavin felt the magic build up around him and begin to close in. This was yet another completely different spell. It moved to encircle and surround him. He had to be quick. Throwing himself forward he leapt for where he felt the magic was weakest.

  It was like diving beneath a large ocean wave. He could feel the weight and power of Geoff’s magic on top of him, but it did not crash into him.

  Geoff stepped back, astonished, “How did you know where to breach the spell?”

  “I told you I could dodge it!” Gavin returned to his feet, “I can tell where you’re casting.”

  “Wait,” Geoff put up a hand, “So if I were to do this,” he cast a protective barrier, but left a large gap open in his defense, “Can you find the weak spot?”

  Gavin nodded. He moved closer to Geoff and lifted his sword, pushing its blade through the opening, “Clear as day, mate.”

  Geoff dropped the barrier, “You never told me you were magic sensitive!”

  “Isn’t everyone?” Gavin tilted his head.

  “Well, yeah, to some extent,” Geoff shook his head, “But not this precise, not without years of training. Who taught you? When did you learn?”

  Gavin shrugged, “I was always able to feel it. S’only reason I fight like I do. Michael hates how flighty my footing is, and Ray always said it was stupid to throw myself around like I do.”

  “They’re not casters, so yeah, it is pointless against them.” Geoff was reconsidering what he had said about Gavin’s uselessness, “But if a magic user assumes you can’t sense their casting…”

  That had Gavin intrigued, “Will they cast differently?”

  Geoff nodded, “At least I would. I put less effort into spells cast at non-users as I don’t expect it countered. But against another magic user, the spellwork has to be near flawless and takes far more energy, or it’s basically useless.” 

  “So I could be a distraction, then!” Gavin suggested, “Divide his attention to weaken his casting, letting you take him down!”

  Geoff shook his head, “I said you’re not facing Ryan. You’re not facing Ryan.”

  “You seem to forget that _I’m_ the only one who’s ever killed the bastard!” Gavin pointed out, “Killed his damn beast as well! And now that he’s some mess of a man-beast, wouldn’t _I_ be the only one who knows how to kill him?”

  Geoff was about to retort that Ryan was someone who didn’t make the same mistake twice, but Gavin’s ‘man-beast’ comment derailed him. He went quiet and looked away, before slowly turning back.

  He waved his finger pensively, “It was a spell to summon Edgar… I was the tribute, but his blood was fed to the ritual as well…”

  Gavin blinked, “Are we having the same conversation? What are you on about?!”

  “Gavin,” Geoff approached him, “I think Ryan’s Edgar.”

  Gavin narrowed his eyes at Geoff in suspect of his sanity, “Wot?”

  “I mean, I don’t understand why he wouldn’t just glamour the horns away, but I think we fused the two. Using an immortal as tribute… it must have seriously overloaded the spell, and combined with my interference in his casting…” Geoff looked as if he was having an epiphany.

  “Fused Ryan with Edgar?” Gavin pulled the pieces together. He shook his head, “I spoke to him; he’s very much the same bastard.”

  “Ryan’s mind and soul would easily overpower that of a beast – even one as magically warped and misshapen as Edgar.” Geoff hypothesised, “I just… I can’t understand how he’s still alive, or rather, how he survived. It would have torn his body apart and slapped it back together with a foreign creature twice his size; the damage to his flesh and organs… You can’t simply heal that fast enough. He should have been dead in seconds – less even!”

  “Well he’s not.” Still holding Geoff’s sword, Gavin crossed his arms, “And now he’s stronger too.”

  Geoff turned to Gavin, “Yes, but I think we can turn it against him.”

  “And how’s that?”

  “Edgar’s in the mix, and just because Ryan currently commands the show, doesn’t mean we can’t force the beast’s instincts out.” Geoff began to explain, “I think with the right spellwork, we could at the very least cloud Ryan’s mind and distract him.”

  Gavin nodded, “Making him fight not just us, but himself as well. Edgar is still a cow at heart, ain’t he? We spook him bad enough and he’s going to go mental.”

  “Exactly.” Geoff smiled, “Unfortunately it’s not like a spell or ritual exists for this kind of situation, so we’re going to have to fly blind and hope that whatever I come up with works well enough.” He paused and then asked, “If I can get you into the Nether, how much quartz and obsidian do you think you could collect?”

  “Eh, wouldn’t you be the better Hell Diver? I can’t fly, but I can burn.” Gavin gently argued.

  Geoff laughed, “I understand, but I figure I’ll be better at collecting Prismarine. Or can you survive the ocean depths?”

  “Prismarine?!” Gavin was astonished, “Just what are you planning on?”

  Geoff shrugged, “Don’t know yet, but I know it won’t be easy. We can’t rely on magic alone or we risk him modifying it. So the physical element must contain the bulk of the spell. Quartz, obsidian, and prismarine hold magic like nothing else; he won’t be able to mess with them on a whim – especially not in the heat of battle.”

  Nodding, Gavin understood, “I’ll do my best, but please do not send me to the Nether without armour and a weapon.” He then added, “Good armour, like steel.”

  “I will outfit you; I don’t think we have the leisure of avoiding magic any longer. We must move quickly.” Geoff approached Gavin and placed a hand on his shoulder. He gave Gavin a squeeze, “Afterwards we can talk about what your role in the coming battle.”

  Gavin raised his eyebrows, “So have you changed your mind about my staying on the sideline?”

  “Not entirely, but if we are planning to overwhelm The Mad King, then every distraction will be necessary.” Geoff explained, “And you are the biggest distraction there is.”

  Gavin laughed, “Depends if you want the castle still standing by the end.”

 

~*~

 

  The King’s hall was filled with numerous tables and chairs. Around a large central table Michael and Lindsay poured over documents, while Ryan milled about behind them answering questions. Jack was sat by Michael further explaining details.

  Ryan was eager to share, he delved deep into his plans for the kingdom, looking for support from the Joneses. The first and largest topic was his plan for food over the winter.

  “I still believe that taking so much from each hold will only starve more people than only dealing with the poor harvest holds.” Lindsay commented, “Why send food to each hold, instead of only the currently hungry?”

  Michael nodded, “I agree, why spread the hardship?”

  Ryan shook his head, “The more there are to carry the weight, the less each must suffer. By equalising the supply of grain, each hold will rely on The Crown an equal amount for food. No hold shall have power over another. Yes, those currently well supplied shall grow hungrier than they would otherwise, but those who would starve will now have enough to survive.”

  Michael grinned knowingly, “And The Crown will have power over them all: choosing who lives and who starves.”

  Ryan’s eyebrow raised while the ghost of a smirk crept across his lips, “One could see it that way, if they were of a particularly cynical nature… However, I rather see it as a King providing for his people in a time of dire need.”

  Lindsay wanted to change the topic, “And how will prisoners be taken care of in the Nether? They will need water, and no water lasts long in that heat. Nor is boiling water any help. You mention giving them potions of fire resistance to increase how long they can work in the heat, but is that not far more expensive than water?”

  “Shifts shall be kept short; mushrooms require very little work outside of harvest, and during harvest the potions shall be rationed to ensure efficiency.” Ryan explained, “Not only will this reduce the side-effects of the potions, but also allow time for crops of netherwart to mature. I make mention in my notes that the netherwart can then be either brewed or sold to aid in the acquisition of potions and, by my calculations, also provide some extra gold for the treasury.” He smiled.

  Michael still didn’t appear convinced, “So a large part of our food supply shall rely on the supply of potions of fire resistance? Can Hell Divers match their supply of magma cream to such a demand?”

  “It will become an enticing career for sure, but I do not doubt their ability.” Ryan told him.

  “I don’t like the fate of so many lives resting on the shoulders of men and women who are basically mercenaries.” Michael commented, “How can you trust them?”

  “I trust their greed.” Ryan simply stated, “And I feel as if you are over-exaggerating the importance of the potions. These are prisoners; I don’t plan on killing them, but I don’t care for their comfort either.”

  Michael nodded, “Fair enough.”

  “Do you really believe that between the mines and Nether, our supply of food shall be enough? And; mushrooms may fill bellies, but can we live on them alone?” Lindsay posed important questions.

  “And lots of people hate the taste of them as well.” Michael added.

  Ryan nodded with a look of distaste, “Count me among that number.” He turned to Lindsay, “I do believe it will be enough. We may leave this winter malnourished, but we will be alive.”

  That ended the conversation, as no one wanted to argue it further.

  After a moment of silence, Lindsay spoke again, “And what of all this work you are having Jack do with the Guard? Isn’t it too expensive to even consider at this time?”

  “What is expensive is having a standing army.” Ryan replied, and looked to Jack to further explain.

  Jack understood, “I know it seems unusual at first – and I had many of the same reservations initially – but I think it will work. It will cost, but it will also take many years to fully establish, at which point the treasury should be far healthier.”

  “But having a unified Guard, separate from the army? Why not just use the army? Hasn’t that worked for centuries?” Michael asked.

  “The new Guard would combine all our previous forces; the Royal Guard, the Castle Guard, each cities’ Guard.” Ryan told him, “It would reduce redundancy and increase efficiency, as well as ensure that individual Lords have far less control over the law.”

  “We would pull out the soldiers who currently stand vigilant in towns and villages and replace them with this Guard. This Guard would police the people and protect the settlement much as the soldiers do. But they won’t be soldiers, and won’t be armed as such.” Jack continued.

  “Soldiers are trained to lay siege and battle. Guards enforce the law. This division is the heart of this decision. Specialisation will allow a reduction in size of our army without sacrificing the safety of our smaller and more remote citizens.” Ryan elaborated.

  “But we’ll have to have a larger guard… one not funded by local Lords, and entirely the responsibility of The Crown. That is much like having a second standing army to pay.” Michael pointed out.

  Jack and Ryan exchanged a look.

  “What is it?” Lindsay knew something was going unsaid.

  Jack sighed and crossed his arms, “This is now the topic upon which The King and I disagree.”

  Ryan frowned and shook his head, “Only because you have no faith in me.”

  “This is no matter of faith in your – whatever you want me to have faith in!” Jack threw up his arms, “There are some things that just will not be accepted; no matter how much blood is shed!”

  Ryan turned away from Jack, back to Michael and Lindsay, “I want each Lord to surrender their bannermen so that they can be trained for this Guard. It would ensure that the Guard is formed from its local communities.”

  “And then you want the Lords to pay for them! As if they _were_ an army!” Jack raised his voice in disbelief.

  “Over my dead body!” Michael was absolutely baffled by the insanity of such a suggestion.

  “It can be arranged!” Ryan snapped, silencing him, “Lords shall pay The Guard to protect their people, just as they would pay a smith to arm them, or a farmer to feed them, but they themselves shall no longer hold military power. All soldiers shall belong to The Crown, and The Crown alone!”

  The room was quiet until Ryan spoke again.

  “Whether or not the Lords agree, _they_ _shall obey._ ” There was an icy fire in his eyes, “The new Guard will be all the protection they or their people need. The Crown will be their law, their sword, and their shield!”

  Michael shook his head and worked to keep himself from raising his voice, “I can’t agree to this. I will never agree. I cannot surrender my army and hope that you will protect me and my lands.”

  Ryan straightened and his right hand curled into a fist. He took a moment before letting his fingers relax again, “I don’t need your agreement, Lord Jones. If my Lords shall not obey, then I will find me those that will.” His voice was dangerously calm.

  Lindsay quickly stood and put her hands on Michael’s shoulders, “Your Majesty, please give us some time to discuss this in private. I apologise for Michael’s words – you know his temper.” She bowed deeply.

  Michael’s lip curled in disgust at being dismissed like that, but knew that Lindsay was only trying to protect him. He stood and bowed, “I apologise, Your Majesty. Your words were… shocking. I will take the time to read through the rest of the documentation and return to you in the morning.”

  Ryan was too smart to believe the apology genuine, but trusted in Lindsay’s ability to talk sense into her husband, “Fine. Take the time you need. I have other matters I can attend to.”

  Jack let out a breath he had been holding since Michael had spoke up.

  Ryan took notice of him, “Jack, if you could lead the Joneses to their chambers.”

  Even though that was the duty of a servant, Jack nodded. Ryan was giving him a chance to speak to Michael and Lindsay more casually. He approached Lindsay and held out his arm for her, which she eagerly took. Together he and the Joneses left the King’s Hall.

 

  Left alone in his hall, Ryan went over Michael’s words in his head. Aside from Jack, he had always considered Michael one of his best allies.

  So such sudden and clear defiance had thrown him. Yes, he hadn’t expected Michael to immediately agree, but he expected argument and discussion, not outright treachery.

  He was losing Jack, and couldn’t even count on Michael.

  What was happening? Why was he losing allies so quickly?

  Ryan looked down at his clawed hand, and magic flared in his palm, growing until it consumed his arm in white fire.

  It was his appearance that was causing it, wasn’t it? But didn’t his honesty count for anything? Wouldn’t it have been far worse to continue to glamour and lie about himself?

  Why was everyone so shallow?!

  The white flames were snuffed out as Ryan’s expression hardened.

  This was a new reign, and he was going to usher in a new age. Jack and Michael were old; set in their ways and resistant to change. If they could not support him, then they could die, and Ryan would find himself new allies. More powerful allies. More _loyal_ allies.

  He would _make_ himself some allies. Ones who knew nothing but how to obey, who would never question him. Ones who would have no agenda but his.

  With a simple thought, he was in his tower, surrounded by his tools and books.

  It was time to get to work.

 


	2. The King's Tower

  Mica stood before the heavy wooden door and took a deep breath. The King’s Tower. It was where all his magical experimentation took place, and was expressly forbidden to all. No one but the King knew what went on inside, and servants spread rumours as to what they had overheard while passing by.

  Whispers of demons, screams of the damned, unearthly howls and roars.

  It was never anything pleasant.

  The King’s Study, Mica knew well. It was where his private collection of books was stored, and she had been caring for them since his coronation. The King’s Tower, however, she only knew to be where he put into practice what he read.

  But Mica needed to speak to the King, and having searched everywhere else, knew he had to be inside.

  Apprehensively, she lifted a fist and knocked on the door. At her knock, the door lightly swung open a couple inches as if it did not weigh a mere fraction of what it should.

  Mica bit her lip nervously and leaned in to peer inside through the gap.

  If she had thought his study was a mess, his tower was a disaster. Her limited view was all she needed to see that.

  Large tables and heavy shelving were stuffed full of stacked paper, rolled parchment, and a baffling amount of strange machinery and contraptions. Loose quills were haphazardly placed as if abruptly forgotten about and never retrieved. Chairs and cushions were strewn around the tables without any real order. It was a wonder how the King managed to find anything at all. Did he even know what he had in here?

  She couldn’t help but smirk. How did Ryan ever survive without servants?

 

  A soft sound tickled her ears, too quiet to even be called a murmur. It was gentle, silky, and fluctuated in pitch as if it were a voice speaking some unknown language.

  She leaned forward further, straining to hear its words – for they had to be words. They danced within her mind on the verge of recognition, and began to foster a growing frustration at her inability to catch what was being said.

  Mica slipped past the door, carefully, silently, closing it behind her. She didn’t want to interrupt the voice, and feared that even the smallest noise would halt it.

  What was it saying? What was its source? Why did they haunt her with familiarity?

  If felt as if it was of the utmost importance that she understand, yet felt foolish that she couldn’t.

  Her feet led her forward without a noise, and before knowing where she was going or why, she arrived before a small bookcase.

  There were no books on this bookcase. Instead it was filled with large crystals of quartz. The crystals were or such a size and perfection that they could have only come from one place.

  The Nether.

  Mica neared the Nether quartz as it continued to whisper to her. Her hand began move forward towards the nearest crystal. She extended her fingers, hovering them over the translucent surface.

 

  A clawed and blackened hand shot out and roughly grabbed her wrist, tearing her away from the crystal.

  Mica opened her mouth to scold whoever had the gall to grab her, but with a blink of her eyes it was like a trance was broken, and she saw the King standing before her. She closed her mouth, and bowed as he released her.

  Mica remained low in her bow, “Your Majesty, I apologise! I know we are not welcome within your tower—“

  “Lady Mica, there is a reason I do not allow anyone into my workspace.” King Ryan interrupted her. He moved to stand between her and the quartz.

  Mica wasn’t even aware she was still hearing the whispers and was startled when they suddenly stopped as the King neared them, “ _What are those?_ ” her curiosity overruled her manners.

  “Something you shouldn’t touch.” The King scolded, “Why are you in my tower? It better be of significant importance.”

  Mica finally straightened out of her bow, “Your Majesty, I made mention of Turney’s imprisonment before the Joneses. They wish to visit and speak with her, and I fear they will do so without your permission.”

  Ryan appeared to think it over, before moving away and deeper into the room. He gestured for Mica to follow.

  With a shallow swallow, Mica went after him. The King was difficult to read, and she was beginning to worry her news was not enough to justify her intrusion.

  They passed by rows of shelving, tables, chests, and strange devices. Mica recognised a few potion brewing stands, and saw the fluttering pages of an enchantment table within a book lined alcove.

  The interior of the King’s Tower was no less cluttered than what was visible from the door.

  Ryan led her to what must have been his most current workspace. Three large tables were pushed together and covered in tools and documents. The middle table had a thin but smooth stone slab on top of it, much like a cutting board. Arcane symbols within a magic circle were carved into the stone, and in the center sat a small silver crown. The crown was small enough to be worn as a ring, and sported a large crack almost all the way through on one side.

  There was a small box on either side of the stone slab, and within each, Mica spotted more of these little crowns. Clearly the King was doing something to them, but she didn’t dare ask.

  The contents of the other two tables were less suspicious, and a flicker of movement had Mica’s eye immediately go to a large steel-bound chest next to the workspace. Four cats were stretched out on top of and beside the chest. Tattered ears and bent tails told her that these cats weren’t the King’s personal pets, but castle mousers that had taken up residence.

  King Ryan paid the cats no mind until he noticed Mica’s amused expression at their presence, “I store redstone in that chest.” He off-handedly explained and went to the central table with the crowns. He began to shuffle through some papers.

  “Ah.” Mica gave a nod. Redstone gave off a gentle heat, and the cats had clearly discovered its warmth.

 

  A tuxedo cat stretched out its limbs with a yawn, and then fell still once more. None of the cats seemed to care enough about them to do more than crack open an eye.

 

  Ryan continued to search through the papers on the table, “Sorry… I know I had it here somewhere, I just – Ah!” he pulled out a letter bearing his royal seal.

  Mica was still awaiting a verdict on whether she was to be punished or not, and looked to the letter with worry.

  “Thank you for letting me know about the Joneses and Turney, but you needn’t worry about them. Turney can’t do much, anyway. Not now.” King Ryan folded letter and began to scan the table for an envelope, “Could you deliver this for me? It will save me the time of finding a messenger.” he spotted an envelope and grabbed it.

  Mica was a member of council, and no messenger. Was this a subtle way of informing her she had been demoted as punishment?

  “Of course, Your Majesty.” Mica curtsied as he stamped another seal on the lip of the envelope, “To whom am I to deliver it?”

  “The High Priest of the Dark Order. His name is Lawrence Matovina, and he’ll be in the temple.” He held it out to her, “Do you know him?”

  Oh, Mica knew him alright. She’d seen ‘Shifty Larry’ around the castle more than a few times, and had no idea how or why the King would trust him.

  “Yes.” She simply replied.

  King Ryan nodded, and grabbed one of the silver crowns from the box to the right of the stone slab, “Give him this too.”

  Mica held out her hand and the King placed the crown on her palm, “Could I ask what these crowns are?” she looked up at the King.

  The King broke into a smile, a genuine and vicious pride glowing through, “Ah,” he chuckled, “A sign of ultimate loyalty and dedication to their King and Dark God.”

  Mica’s eyes returned to the carved stone slab with its arcane symbols.

  The King wasn’t blind to her gaze, “Of course, they aren’t _mundane_.” He chuckled again.

  She didn’t know why her stomach tightened like it did. Mica swallowed. She’d always considered herself loyal to him, and believed him to be a far better king than Gavin ever was, yet now he was making her skin crawl. Maybe it was the hint of something manic in his pride – something that spoke on a level she couldn’t quite understand – but her body clearly took it as warning.

  He turned to Mica and his smile faded to be replaced with something gentler, kinder, “You have no need to be so concerned.” He put a hand on her arm, “Only those who wish it shall receive one. Your loyalty will not be questioned if you choose not to accept the ring.”

  Rings! They were rings! Mica realised and scolded herself for not making the connection earlier. They would clearly identify his most loyal of followers, and undoubtedly offer them some sort of protection.

  “So the magic, it’s to protect those loyal to you? Those who bear the rings?” Mica wanted to confirm her theory.

  King Ryan smiled at her interest, “It’s quite more than that, but yes, I have included some protective magic within them as well.

  You see Lady Mica, there are those loyal to me, and then there are those who willingly sacrifice their souls to me. I don’t require so many souls from self-sacrificial cultists. These rings provide a work-around of sorts. They bind the wearer’s life and soul to my will.” He grinned, “So they may serve me in life and in death, but without the loss of self.

  I am powerful, but I am only one. My followers shall be many, and they will accomplish what I cannot.”

  “Bind life and s-soul?” Mica couldn’t believe what she was hearing; she had always assumed that those the King took as sacrifice he was killing for sport, or to maintain an image, but to learn he had been taking their souls?

  This was too much to take in at once. What could a man possibly do with so many souls? Why would he even _want_ them in the first place?

  And now he was going to eternally bind the living and dead to his will?! So they served him _forever_?!

  She fought the urge to toss the ring she held and run. Instead her fingers curled tight around the metal.

  “As I said, only those who wish it shall receive one, and I will be clear with them as to what it entails.” The King told her and gave her arm a squeeze before retracting it, “The very last thing I want is an unwilling servant.”

  Mica believed him, but the whole thing still didn’t sit well with her.

  He seemed to read her mind, “I know; it all has such an insidious connotation, but I have ensured that those with any doubts cannot bear the ring.” He picked up another ring from the same box and held it out to Mica, “Do you trust your King?”

  Mica bit her tongue to stop herself from swearing aloud: what kind of question was that?! She really had no choice now, did she?

  She held out her right hand, extending the fingers.

  Ryan nimbly slipped the ring over her middle finger.

  It was loose, and would slip from her finger if she were to tilt it, which she did, into her left hand. Her ring landed next to the one for Shifty Larry, “Well that means nothing: it was too large.” Mica forced a laugh.

  Ryan laughed and shook his head as if she were missing something important, “If the ring had bound you, it wouldn’t be able to be removed. It would become your size.”

  “So with Lawrence,” Mica began.

  “Let me know how true his pledges and oaths are.” Ryan smirked, “Middle finger of the right hand.” He demonstrated on his own hand with a third ring that Mica had not seen him pick up. The silver was a striking contrast on his charcoal skin.

  “Will you yourself wear a ring?” Mica was curious. It would be a far more powerful symbol if his followers wore the same ring as their king and god.

  “Do you believe I should?” Ryan asked and seemed to inspect the ring he wore, “Or would it be too much to bear two crowns?”

  “You have the titles of both King and God, so why not?” She suggested.

  “Maybe I shall have a goldsmith make me one of gold – to distinguish it from the silver ones.” He thought out loud and slipped the ring off.

  “Your Majesty, you said the rings become unable to be removed – I understand why you would implement such an enchantment, but don’t you believe there may be times when a ring should be removed? Or situations where it is required? Examples escape me as of this moment, but I believe it warrants consideration.”

  “I hadn’t really thought of that.” Ryan rubbed his chin and looked down at his mess of notes and papers, “I mostly didn’t want them becoming lost or stolen. Thieves will be quick to snatch silver if they learn they can.”

  “Thieves will also cut off fingers if they are particularly dedicated.” Mica pointed out, “I much rather they take the ring and not a digit.”

  “You make a very compelling argument.” Ryan agreed with her reasoning, “Give me those two rings back.”

  Mica obliged.

  “Yes, I think I’ll have to modify the enchantment. Thank you.” Ryan told her, “Hold off on that letter until I return to you with a new ring.”

  She nodded, “I will, Your Majesty. In the meantime, do you wish for me to send guards to watch the Joneses?”

  Ryan shook his head, “No, that won’t be necessary, but I appreciate being kept aware of their movements.

  If anything else develops, please make me aware.”

  Mica curtsied, “Of course, Your Majesty.” She turned to leave.

  “And Lady Mica,”

  She turned back to the King.

  “Please avoid entering my tower uninvited in the future. There are dangerous items in here.” He warned without anger but not concern.

  Mica didn’t want to know what would have happened to her if she had touched the Nether quartz. She gave a curt bow of her head, and made her way towards the door. In her hurry she didn’t watch where she was stepping.

  A brown tabby yowled as Mica stepped on the tip of its long tail. Mica almost fell as she quickly retracted her foot. The tabby hissed at her and arched its back. On its head were two small goat horns and its back paws were cloven hooves.

  Mica chocked back a loud curse at the sight of the strange creature. Even its eyes were the strange horizontal pupils of a goat.

  Ryan uttered an amused laugh at the scene.

  “What is that creature?” Mica’s shock was dying down, and she had to admit that it wasn’t quite as sinister as she had initially thought.

  “That tabby walked across an experimental arcana drawing I was working on for my rings. Early in their creation; while I was still testing the concept and what could and couldn’t be done.” Ryan explained with a smile, “I think he’s cute though. Eats everything, and the hooves tripped him up at first, but now he seems fine.”

  Mica blinked, clearly there was a lot more to those rings than Ryan was telling her, “What would have happened if it were a person to walk across?”

  Ryan smirked but didn’t answer.

Unsettled, Mica decided it was time to leave for real this time. She gave her King a quick stiff bow and hurried the rest of the way out of his tower.

 

  On the stairs, she finally took a moment to calm her heart. Her hands were trembling as adrenaline left her. This was irrational, he hadn’t scolded or threatened her, why was her body reacting this way? Mica shook out her arms in an effort to steady herself. Gods, what was wrong with her?

  Her ears itched, and the strange murmur from before tickled the edges of her mind.

  Mica’s stomach did a backflip, and nearly flew down the rest of the stairs in her haste to get away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A nice short chapter. The rings are Alexskyline's (http://alexskyline.com/) design and I loved them so much I decided to include them.
> 
> Like my fic? Wanna talk to others that like my fic? Join my Discord! https://discord.gg/xK8Bwqx


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